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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23226016">Southern Hospitality (Hostility)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicEclair/pseuds/AngelicEclair'>AngelicEclair</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Final Girl [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Slashers - Fandom, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drugging, Erotic Horror, F/M, Horror, Mentions of Blood, slashers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:48:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,091</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23226016</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicEclair/pseuds/AngelicEclair</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Reader moves into the quaint farmhouse of her dreams to focus on her writing. Hearing a lot of concerning stories about her neighbors, the Hewitts, she decides to dispel all the rumors herself and introduce herself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Leatherface | Thomas Brown Hewitt/Original Female Character(s), Leatherface | Thomas Brown Hewitt/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Final Girl [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1674658</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>209</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Southern Hospitality (Hostility)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Please do not read or comment if you are offended by horror elements or writing smut about slashers! Thank you so much!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>How exuberantly alive she should have felt to be set free at last, from such a grim and stifling place. </p><p>But she felt <em>empty </em>somehow as she ran through the whispering field of wheat, through layered night shadows cast by crooked, wind-bent trees. She saw no movement other than her own and the sluggish, serpentine advance of the thin fog over the horizon. Dawn was coming. The only sounds were the soft crunching of grass underfoot and her labored breathing. </p><p>She kept looking over her shoulder at the southern plantation house behind her, glowing an eerie white like a pearl underwater. </p><p>She stopped, listening to the frogs and crickets. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Her throat was as dry and crackly as bracken. Her thoughts were flayed open at what had occurred sub rosa, but the darkness soothed her baffled mind as she waited for the sound of the revving chainsaw that never came.</p><p>
  <strong> 15 Hours Earlier </strong>
</p><p>The blaze of sun wrung pops of sweat from Thomas Hewitt's brow as he carried three bags of concrete mix on his shoulder into the shed. As he went around back for more supplies. He tried to keep his eyes straight ahead, but he could not shake the image of (Y/N) just across the field, on her knees tugging weeds out of her flowerbeds. It clung to his back like the chill of wet leaves. </p><p>(Y/N) moved into her new home in lonesome Travis County in the early summer, wanting to get away from the city to focus more on her writing, somewhere airy and organic. The Hewitts were (Y/N) 's closest neighbors. They seemed to have taken in a few guests the day (Y/N) moved in. Despite the obvious kindness they extended to drifters, folks at the market and Three French Hens Antique Parlor said they were odd, that they never left the house at all. It was tall tales that made such a small town thrive; without it, they would be in a drought. (Y/N) decided to pay it no mind and formulate her own opinion on the Hewitts when the time came.</p><p>It was most common for surrounding neighbors to bring over a covered dish to those who just moved in, but (Y/N) was eager to worm herself into the family's good graces, for they were the only people for miles and miles. So, (Y/N) found herself in the kitchen, making a preemptive peace offering.</p><p>(Y/N) had quartered the lemons and dumped them into a stand-mixer, beating them with the paddle-blades on the lowest setting. She peered out her barren kitchen window. The sun was intense, she would need to buy curtains the next time she went out. She hugged herself and sighed contently. She had done it: moved on her own, unpacked on her own, shopped for supplies on her own. Possessed in a reverie of suspended thought, (Y/N) hadn't noticed the mixer go silent. The egg-shaped kitchen timer chirped, knocking her out of her daze and telling her the lemons were thoroughly juiced. She grabbed her fine-mesh strainer to catch the pulp, humming a song in the bird-song filled kitchen. As she dumped the lemon juice into a measuring cup, a lumbering, dark figure flickered just above the wheat a few feet away.</p><p>(Y/N) stopped her movements as crows exploded into the sky from the spot the shadow had been. (Y/N), for just a second, regretting being all alone after seeing what looked like a walking scarecrow vanish into the golden waves. Hesitantly pulling her gaze down, she added the sugar to the lemon juice and began whisking, humming the tune again to settle her nerves.</p><p>About an hour later, after unpacking a cardboard box of knick-knacks to put on her coffee table, (Y/N) padded into the kitchen to retrieve her big glass pitcher of chilled lemonade from the refrigerator. It looked perfect with the thin slices of lemon bobbing alongside the ice cubes at the top.</p><p>Glancing out the window over her sink at the plantation home adjacent to her, she noticed a white-blonde old lady on the porch knitting and rocking idly in her chair. Hoping to catch her before she went back inside, (Y/N) grabbed the pitcher and slipped on her shoes before hurrying out the door and down the steps.</p><p>She moved across the flattened grass where deer had laid for the night, careful not to spill the pitcher or step anything and track it up onto their porch. (Y/N) looked up from her feet to see the old woman staring at her. Her mouth was pinched into a scowl, and her rhythmic rocking had ceased. Yet again, (Y/N) got a cold rush of realization she was all alone. </p><p>"Hello there! I'm (Y/N). I just moved into that little farmhouse over there." (Y/N) pointed emphatically, proud of the home she bought with her own money from working at grocery stores to stocking shelves at Mom and Pop shops to being a cook at a fast-food chain.</p><p>The woman's sour expression eased into that of concern. Still, she said nothing.</p><p>"I just finished unpacking and came over to bring this lemonade. It's homemade!" She chirped.</p><p>Just as the old woman was about to respond, a hulking shape barged out the screened door with a sewing basket and shoved it into her lap. The shape was about to turn and leave, as quickly as he came, until he noticed (Y/N) in her sundress, holding a pitcher of lemonade, and smiling sweetly. Her beaming faded when she noticed the leather mask that concealed his nose and mouth, though despite the shadows it cast, (Y/N) thought she could make out his lips. Poor dear, something must have happened to his face that he was terribly ashamed of. Perhaps he had just returned from the rainforests of 'Nam. </p><p>An accident with napalm, perhaps? (Y/N) had heard her share of horror stories.</p><p>"Hi! I'm (Y/N)." She greeted the giant brightly. The giant's hickory-colored eyes shifted away. (Y/N) noticed he had creases between his brows as if he was concentrating on everything very hard. Everything but her.</p><p>"I'm Luda Mae," The woman in the rocking chair said. "That there is my boy, Thomas, my youngest."</p><p>"Nice to meet you." (Y/N) sang. </p><p>"Oh, he don't say much. Ya learn t' not take it so personally pretty quick."</p><p>Thomas looked in (Y/N) 's direction, but he stared past her. He stared at the dust and the quickening shadows. The hellish Texan sun was beginning to slip beneath the rim of the world, and he could hear the dim yappings of savage dog packs prowling the fringes of the farm. </p><p>He had to look at anything but <em>her.</em></p><p>"I was about to stitch up a hole in one of Tommy's dress shirts, but it can wait. Why don't you bring that jug and come on inside."</p><p>Suddenly, a sheriff's Ford Fairlane came dashing up the gravel road, large plumes of dust whirling behind it. (Y/N) nearly dropped her pitcher. Thomas's enigmatic eyes focused on the car, and he reached for the handle for the screendoor. </p><p>(Y/N) heard the car door creak open and saw the comically huge campaign hat over the car before she saw the man attached to it. A sheriff came speedily crunching up the gravel to the porch with a sour expression. "Dumb hippie motherfuckers!" Was all he could manage before he climbed the steps up to the porch and noticed (Y/N). His rage-red face instantly cooled. </p><p>"Well, now, did Tommy get a little girlfriend?" The sheriff teased. Thomas looked down, clearly uncomfortable. It was already made evident by Thomas' instinct to bolt inside the house when he saw the car barreling up the driveway that he was not on the best of terms with the sheriff. Was he a Hewitt too? His badge read 'Hoyt.' Perhaps he was just a family friend. </p><p>"Hi, sir. I'm (Y/N). I just moved into that little farmhouse right across from here."</p><p>"Well, I'll be damned. We haven't had a neighbor in a long, long time."</p><p>The sheriff's grin widened before he hocked a concentrated wad of chewing tobacco off the porch and into the mulch below.</p><p>Luda Mae was glaring at him in disgust.</p><p>"Miss (Y/N) just brought us some freshly-squeezed lemonade, and I just asked her to come in and share it with us before you came a' huffin' and puffin'." </p><p>(Y/N) didn't notice, but while she was distracted by Luda Mae and Sheriff Hoyt, Thomas was staring down at (Y/N) intently with eyes hotter than a branding iron. While Thomas had his fair share of crushes on ladies on Monty's TV, he'd never felt such a pull to any woman he ever came across. (Y/N) was so friendly and polite. Her voice was soft like summer rain, which was in stark contrast to the constant, grating shouting of the Hewitt family. She was thoughtful and brought over lemonade. </p><p>Why? No one came to them unless they were <em>led </em>there.</p><p>He couldn't detect any possible ulterior motives. He just wasn't trying hard enough, he convinced himself. </p><p>"Sure thing, sweetheart. Come right the fuck in." Hoyt's toothy smile was like that of a wolf and (Y/N) felt impossibly small and dirty in his line of vision. She felt like he was undressing her when he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip.</p><p>"I'll take that thing off yer hands." He dipped down and took the pitcher from (Y/N) before striding through the front door.</p><p>(Y/N) found herself at the kitchen table with Luda Mae across from her and Thomas looming in the doorway of the living room. </p><p>(Y/N) was discussing her discoveries at Three French Hens Antique Parlor to a very receptive Luda Mae, who often cut in with stories of her own findings. Sometimes pointing around the kitchen at the little knick-knacks scattered about. She was most proud of salt and pepper shakers. The pair that sat on the table were hand-painted calico cats holding umbrellas. </p><p>"Here we go, ladies." Hoyt interrupted, bringing over two full glasses of lemonade, before turning back to grab his own. As if just remembering the six-foot-five man lingering a few steps away, Hoyt turned to Thomas and held up his glass.</p><p>"You want any, Tommy?" He barked. The giant man simply shook his stead but remained in place like a breathing shadow. (Y/N) couldn't help but feel a cold uneasiness skitter across her neck and down her back.</p><p>"Hah, alright." Hoyt snickered as he raised the glass to his lips and hiked up an eyebrow at (Y/N). </p><p>What a dirty old man he is, she thought. His glib attitude rankled her.</p><p>As (Y/N) drank, she kept finding herself standing on the outside of her own conversation. Luda Mae's voice sounded like it was gurgling from deep underwater. She glanced up at Hoyt, who was watching her with a self-satisfied grin. </p><p>She became so sweetly drowsy, like how she felt curled up in her own bed on a Sunday morning. She was confused as to why she was so relaxed around such an odd group of strangers. Perhaps it was relaxing to know people were just a short walk away from her farmhouse and that she wasn't wholly isolated after. </p><p>That was it, wasn't it?</p><p>Then came a startling rush of dizziness, overwhelming fatigue, and heaviness like she was suddenly plunged into a cold cove. </p><p>"I think...I need...to..."</p><p>Despite her bleary vision, (Y/N) noticed Luda Mae turn back to the sheriff with an angry look, but she said nothing. Did nothing.</p><p>"Tommy," Hoyt called. The huge footsteps that came in response vibrated her insides. Then, her neck bowed under the inconceivable weight of her head. She blinked, feeling the world spin faster and faster in the split second of darkness. She felt her numb cheek smash against the kitchen table. </p><p>"I like the gal." Hoyt distorted rumble came. "Do it quick, Tommy."</p><p>Do<strong> what?</strong></p><p>The last ounce of awareness (Y/N) had sent adrenaline rushing through her bloodstream, but felt like spikes squeezing through her veins. It was her body's autopilot system's last-ditch effort to make her get up and run.</p><p>(Y/N) tried with all her might to pry her own eyes open, but when they parted, the rush of light was so offensive, her eyes began stinging with tears.</p><p>She heard an indistinct grumble.</p><p>"No, <em>no</em>. Quit yer fuckin' bellyachin' and get it done."</p><p>
  <strong> The Basement  </strong>
</p><p>(Y/N) awoke with what felt like a thunderous hangover. It felt like the flu, only worse. </p><p>Above the creaking floorboards overhead, (Y/N) could hear Glen Campbell crooning over a crackling radio.</p><p>"<em>And I need you more than want you. And I want you for all time.</em>"</p><p>Her head throbbed along with the slow, melancholy beat. </p><p>Where was she?</p><p>As her watery eyes refocused, she was met with Thomas' masked face glaring back at her. His brown eyes were nearly black, hard, and defensive as if he was bracing for her to lash out. Those eyes really had a "beaten dog" quality to them.</p><p>Thomas waited. This was the moment (Y/N) was supposed to start screaming, to try to get away, to call him a monster, a dumb animal, a freak. It's the moment everyone who floated through the old plantation home took to scorn and deride him. His narrow eyes maintained an unwavering stare as he prepared for her to spit in his face, to split his skin with hooks and string him up. He waited, but it never came.</p><p>"Oh, Thomas...where...where are we?"</p><p>Gradually her head cleared, and hazy objects slowly faded into reality.</p><p>Where those meat hooks? How did she wind up in a meatpacking plant? </p><p>Her brain stuttered for a moment. A gaggle of goose pimples laminated her skin, despite the air in the air around her being heavy and constricting. </p><p>But the floorboards overhead and Glen Campell playing. She was in a house.</p><p>She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to recall what happened before she blacked out as if willing it back into her mind. </p><p>For just a flash, she recalled Hoyt handing her a glass of lemonade and grinning widely at her, like the cat that ate the canary. At that moment, dread owned her, pushing against her like an invisible gale. Fear had her stomach locked up tight, nothing getting in or out. Terror set her face like rigor mortis, she stopped her teeth from chattering by grinding them together.</p><p>She blinked dumbly at the gently swaying meat hooks, the thought entered her mind that she never <em>did </em>see any of the guests ever leave the Hewitt house.</p><p>He noticed her noticing the hooks.</p><p>
  <em> Please, don't fear me. Please don't, please don't, please don't.  </em>
</p><p>(Y/N) looked back to Thomas. It wasn't what she saw, but what she didn't see that made her stomach trash like a stormy sea. She hoped she was wrong. God, she hoped. He could have very quickly cracked her head open and made scrambled brains and toast. He could have, but he didn't.</p><p>Now she understood what all the chatter across town about the Hewitts was about. She was, but a proverbial pig being pushed through the maze in the slaughterhouse, forced to steep in the hysterical dismay of the inevitability of her fate under the very eyes of her executioner. And what black eyes he had. </p><p>But all Thomas could think of, as he burned a hole clean through her, was how shameful she made him feel. She was a distraction. He couldn't be shirking work, because of the new sensation (Y/N) brought. He couldn't be veering off schedule because of her big eyes batting up at him. He had mouths to feed.</p><p>But there he sat, unmoving, nearly unblinking at the only lady that had forced himself to hide away and relieve himself after he saw her in the garden with an eyelet-patterned sundress, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her gloved hand. He recalled the moment. The moment he was at his weakest. </p><p>Thomas was humiliated as he stomped back into the house, tramped down the stairs, and slumped against the cold basement wall. He wasn't supposed to feel good. He wouldn't allow himself because he didn't deserve it. </p><p>But there he was, frantically fiddling with his belt, unbuttoning, unzipping, and freeing his cock from its confines. He started up a furious, unforgiving pace right off the bat. His hand moved from the base, in the cover of his pubic curls, up to the tip in a fluid motion. Over and over again. He shuddered as he took a moment to smooth his thumb over the tip, which was leaking precum.</p><p><em> No</em>, he had to stop.</p><p>The new neighbor wouldn't want him. Not in a million years. Not even in an alternate reality where he didn't need a mask to hide his face. </p><p>
  <em> His face. </em>
</p><p>Even the thought of it threatened his erection to deflate.</p><p>Still, the idea of her licking his cock just like the girls on the glossy, somewhat sticky, pages of the magazines Uncle Charlie hid away in boxes in the attic kept him hard and aching until the end.</p><p>He <em>couldn't </em>stop.</p><p>(Y/N)'s timid voice pulled him back into the present. </p><p>"Thomas...I think I see what's going on here...Thank you for giving it a second thought. You could have clearly just…" (Y/N) didn't want to say out loud any of the possibilities swarming in her head, that would make it too real. "Is there anything I can do to repay you?" (Y/N) hugged her shoulders for comfort, the overload of emotion blurred the possible connotations that the question had. She couldn't stop shaking. </p><p>No one had ever thanked him before, not even his own family, the ones he was driven to protect, to feed, to serve. He thought blood was enough, that the blood meant they loved him and appreciated him, but it didn't feel like it. It didn't <em>feel </em>like anything. But he was in their debt for even being allowing him to exist, as strange as he was.</p><p>But he just couldn't get on with it. He knew that was what he was supposed to do, and he never quested orders for more than a heartbeat. (Y/N) wasn't family. She wasn't even a life-long resident of Travis County, which made her especially out of the Hewitt's graces. She hadn't yelled at him, so she definitely wasn't family. Couldn't be.</p><p>After (Y/N) left, he would be alone again. Alone, a sentiment he well-acquainted with. He was alone all throughout school when not even the teacher's intervened during his regular bullying. They couldn't be bothered. He was all alone when he slit his face up to match how he felt inside. He was alone when he worked at the slaughterhouse, and no one dared to approach him. He was alone, lonely. Only called upon when needed, not wanted. He was as much of a tool to his family as his prized chainsaw was to him.</p><p>He only got to feel cold, rigid flesh. The only warmth came from the spurts of the blood of a fresh kill. Thomas felt a mixture of bittersweet yearning and self-loathing. </p><p>He wasn't going to stop this time. He was going to be selfish. Just this <em>once</em>.</p><p>"Thomas, are you feeling okay? Maybe you should go upstairs, it is pretty hot down here."</p><p>His eyes began to roam her face, and you found herself reddening from the attention. It wasn't like his stare from before. There was curiosity in his scrutiny, but carnality as well, that made (Y/N) 's heart stutter. He was so...tempting. He was tall, dark, brawny, and all man. She knew survival-mode emotional states could act as an unconscious sexual lure, but this was not one of those cases. She felt sorry for Thomas, but she wasn't going to offer herself to him out of pity. She could imagine the years of sexual-starvation and wanted to be on the receiving end. Everything about him told her he'd be rough. </p><p>So she drew in a breath.</p><p>"You can touch me if you want... It's okay."</p><p>This is wrong, <em>she </em>shouldn't be doing this.</p><p><em> He </em>shouldn't be doing this.</p><p>All the world was warring silently at their chance encounter, but (Y/N) only felt oddly emboldened by her growing sexual attraction. </p><p>His hand engulfed her shoulder, shyly sliding down her arm. She placed her hand over his and held him there for a moment. She could feel his trembling. </p><p>Was he scared or holding back?</p><p>"You can touch me more than that too…" (Y/N) grinned sheepishly and guided his hand up to her neck, smoothing it across her pulse point. </p><p>Thomas felt something inside him snap. He leaned into (Y/N), with his mouth hovering above her neck and his scarred hands kneading her breasts reverently. His uneven breath fanned hotly over the junction between (Y/N) neck and shoulder.</p><p>"It's okay…" (Y/N) murmured, feeling the knot in her stomach wind itself tighter and tighter, as she ran her fingers through Thomas' soft, dark hair. "That's it." </p><p>(Y/N) knew Thomas needed praise, especially in the situation they found themselves in. She cautiously bent forward to untie Thomas' butcher's apron, trying not to move too quickly and startle the towering man. Following suit, Thomas reluctantly began to undo his tie. It was curious how he had the dirtiest job but was the best dressed.</p><p> "I'll get it for you...u-unless you insist!"</p><p>(Y/N) could hear Thomas' heavy breathing rasping behind the mask that covered his nose and mouth. Anxiousness was rolling hotly in his chest. She finished undoing his tie and took her time unbuttoning his shirt. His chest was heaving, and his hands clenching. (Y/N) hummed as she smoothed over his big, barrel-chest, fingers swirling in wisps of dark hair. </p><p>"Wow…"</p><p>Looking farther down, there was an endearing bit of pudge with a crinkly trail of hair leading down into his umber trousers. She wanted to see what was in his pants. The waiting was making her squirm.</p><p>Impatient, the butcher got up and rushed to the corner of the basement where a stack of newspapers sat. He came back with a handful and began spreading it out over his work table. (Y/N) shivered, it was probably the same paper he probably wrapped his choice cuts in before stuffing them in the ice chest.</p><p>He strode to (Y/N), lifted her up, and laid her back on the covered work table, hiking her sundress up over her hips. Rushing and hungry, he pulled her legs open. (Y/N) fought the urge to close her legs and hide her face, but the heat surging deep inside her was making her desperate and delirious with need.</p><p>Thomas spread her hole and looked intently. His fingers were so thick and rough with years of arduous work. (Y/N) let her head loll to the side as her face was engulfed in an inferno. She jumped at the feel of his rough fingertip tracing up and down her folds. He looked at his finger, which was covered in her wetness. He didn't know what to do with the unidentifiable feelings that were ballooning in his chest. He wanted to tear her apart, but not in the usual way.</p><p>Frantically, he tore her panties down her legs, letting them dangle around her left ankle. Unable to wait for even another second, Thomas used his thumb to spread (Y/N) delicate folds before he squeezed a finger inside her, shuddering at the very idea of putting his big cock into something so impossibly hot, wet, and tight. <em>His</em>. She was going to be all <em>his </em>. He curled his finger inside her, the foreign thickness of his digit was overwhelming (Y/N). With every crook, (Y/N) 's hole gripped and suctioned wetly, noisily. She instinctively gripped his wrist and stared up at the butcher who had her completely at his mercy. His eyes were seemingly more intense than before as he loomed over her menacingly. </p><p>His giant hand splayed across (Y/N) 's belly, keeping her hips still. "Oh!" She let out a surprised breath as her walls clenched around his finger, he gave her a moment to adjust before he added his middle finger. He was curling them quickly, drinking in every wet click of her hole around his finger. Being as big as he was, (Y/N) felt a little stretched, but was not painful. In fact, she wanted more. Her eyes were growing bleary with tears as she prickled with pleasure. His thumb kept bumping her clit.</p><p>"You're... you're doing good!" she whispered. With that, Thomas shivered and groaned, his ministrations growing overwhelmingly fast. (Y/N) muffled her sounds with the back of her hand as her toes curled painfully. His fingertips bumped into the place that made white spots throb at the edge of her vision. It wouldn't take much longer for her, especially with his calloused thumb placing teasing pressure over her clit.</p><p>"Stop…" She panted. Thomas was quick to obey and clearly concerned he did something wrong. (Y/N) smiled sheepishly. "No...you were still doing good. I was just about to...um.." She felt naked down to the sinew under his stare. "I wanted to save that for...later." Seeming to be sufficiently reassured, Thomas drug his fingers out of (Y/N), enthralled with the way her walls tried to keep him inside. As (Y/N) caught her breath, she felt his fingers trail further down. Then, a thumb came to rub at her puckered hole.</p><p>(Y/N) gasped, and her hips bucked upwards. She heard what sounded like a noise of self-satisfaction from Thomas and chuckled breathlessly. She sat up on the table and grabbed for Thomas' belt with the same impatience he had displayed. She successfully undid it with shaky fingers and shimmied his trousers and underwear down to mid-thigh, with some assistance from Tommy, of course.</p><p>Her heart constricted with desire.</p><p>Everything was, in fact, <em>bigger </em>in Texas.</p><p>His cock was thick and hefty, with the skin a shade darker than the rest of his body. A plump vein on the underside of the shaft became visible when his cock twitched. He was a bit thicker than the width of her wrist, with the base being shaded in a thatch of wild pubic curls.</p><p>A hopeless rough of air left (Y/N) 's lips before her reluctant fingers brushed against it, feeling his warmth and the blood rushing beneath the tender skin. </p><p>"You're so big, Tommy." </p><p>He groaned, eyes nearly fluttering shut.</p><p>Thomas couldn't contain his grunt as (Y/N) spread his precum over his sensitive head and down his shaft. The wet sounds made his cock twitch in her hand. She was having difficulty wrapping her entire hand around Tommy's cock, so she brought up her second hand to assist her. It was getting unbearably hot in the basement, with both the heat of the rising intimacy and the damp air. (Y/N) feared she would overheat.</p><p>"Please…come here." </p><p>Thomas began rutting against her as shameless and unyielding as a dog. The air against her wetness was replaced with the weighty heat of his cock. With fingers in his wild pubic curls, holding himself steady, he pushed his length along her wet slit, back and forth, sticky wetness smearing all over her lips. (Y/N) 's breath hitched as she convulsed with a strong shiver. Thomas bowed over her body, snarling as he was overcome with the most pleasure he had ever felt.</p><p>With help, it slid into the center of her desire, where her very heartbeat throbbed, where she was wet and waiting and wanting. He pinned her onto the table and rolled his hips into hers, the tip of his cock barreling into her.</p><p>Her back arched off the table, nails curled into the surface below, the ink of the newspaper sticking to her wet palms. Just as (Y/N) was almost used to the ruthless dragging of the butcher's thick cock against her under-prepared walls. The sudden stretch made her clench around him, dragging him harder against her honied walls. She whimpered as she adjusted to him, feeling like she had just been harshly impaled. She let out a small, worried cry every time she felt him twitch inside. He didn't give her more than a moment to get a hold of herself before he began his frenzied assault.</p><p>She tried to at least lock her ankles around him, but he was too wide and moving too erratically. (Y/N) 's trembling hand reached between her own legs and began rubbing herself sloppily in tandem, finding it difficult to keep up.</p><p>Breathing so heavily through her nose was beginning to burn wickedly, so her mouth fell agape, falling victim to his brutality. It was pure sensory overload being so inconceivably full. The elation between her legs was reaching the boiling point, orgasm fast approaching. Tears ran down her cheeks as she lost herself, mewling out as she came, her walls milking him with vigor.</p><p>A slurred "<em>what the fuck </em>" came from Hoyt upstairs that she nearly missed over the rushing in her ears.</p><p>Her aftershock was elongated when Thomas doubled over, being crushed under the weight of his own climax. He seized up, groaned, and squeezed (Y/N) 's arm in an iron grip. They stayed connected, palpitating in the sweetest agony. Thomas's shuttered breath was against (Y/N) 's shoulder. The sound of crickets faded in and filled the exhausted silence. </p><p>"Boy, what the hell are you doin' down there?"</p><p>Thomas jerked his head up and watched as Hoyt's heavy steps shook the dust from above. He tucked himself away and roughly grabbed (Y/N) hand, pulling her off the table, and leading her through a secret back exit from the basement. She stumbled outside while Thomas hung in the doorway.</p><p>Covered in smudges of newspaper ink, she felt bad for leaving him there, but as she whispered a 'thank you,' she bolted off towards her house, dawn climbing up onto the horizon.</p>
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